The soldiers, like a single, many-handed machine, instantly brought down their weapons to their sides with a clash, and the clatter of the loading-sticks in the barrels of the muskets was distinctly audible. Then there was another clatter, and every musket was instantly pointed. The rioters began to look at one another, and those in front envied the position of those in the rear, who could freely use their lungs without the slightest risk. And now the General rode along in front of the noisy mob and shouted to them in a hard, stern voice: "What do you want? What is the matter with you? Why are you obstructing the street?" The fellows kept elbowing each other forward, and, at last, one of them exclaimed: "Here is Master Matthias! Let Master Matthias speak!" "Bravo, Master Matthias!" And suddenly from the midst of the mob arose the form of a citizen in a leather apron, with a shako on his head, and a musket with a bayonet attached thereto in his hand. He was passed along over the heads of the crowd, from shoulder to shoulder, and finally planted on his feet right in front of the General. This was Master Matthias. Even if his hands, the knuckles whereof were unwashably embalmed with pitch, had not of themselves betrayed the fact, the awl hanging beside his leather apron, and evidently left there by accident, would have declared that the individual in question belonged to that estimable section of the community whose business in life it is to provide humanity with corns. His moustache was twisted with seven-and-seventy ringlets, and he had the habit every time he opened his mouth of violently shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders by way of making his words the more emphatic. Master Matthias was a famous orator of the market-place, a toast-master of the city guilds, a finished wedding-feast chairman, and a recognised champion swine-slayer, he was consequently renowned throughout the town. Nor was he the least afraid of the town, or the county either, or even of the General himself, as he now intended to show him. So there he stood manfully in front of Vértessy, twirling his crooked moustache from end to end, and banging his musket on the ground as violently as if he meant to smash its butt end to pieces. Then he cleared his throat, and in a hoarsely strident voice gave expression to the following sentiments: